


She Still Cries

by Bexinthecity247



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15920894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bexinthecity247/pseuds/Bexinthecity247
Summary: She still cries for a home she once made, on an island she fell in love with. And she still cries for a man she loved. (Small Oneshot)





	She Still Cries

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'I still Cry' by Ilse DeLange

It was going to rain. She was sure of it as she pulled her thick coat tighter around her, her glance aimed skeptically at the sky. The dog at the end of the lead in her hand, strained to get to the edge of someone’s garden. She pulled him back and adjusted the hat on her head. The dog whimpered and strained again. She could hardly blame him for pulling at his restraints, for half his life he had wandered freely and now he was a caged animal. Just like she. 

“Good afternoon, Louisa!” a voice pulled her from the bleakness she was falling into and she whirled to face the direction from which it came. 

The voice belonged to a man, a decade or so older than her but his eyes held more spark, more life, than hers. It was something she’d noticed when he’d invited them to dinner when they’d first moved in, before he knew the chaos that the Durrell household brought with them everywhere. He didn’t seem to mind, but she hated the sound of her name on his lips. Now however, he was waving profusely from his garden as he put down the sheers and approached the gate. She was tired, both mentally and physically and she wanted to go home for a nap before she’d have to go and pick Gerry up from his tutor, but somehow, she felt drawn, by her English politeness, to stand and chat. 

She dragged Roger across the road with her as she crossed to the man. She almost said ‘kalimera’; an old habit that hadn’t quite died. 

“Hello Jonathon,” she said sweetly, forcing a smile. Life had presented her with many moments of happiness in her life, and for that she was grateful but right now, she wasn’t sure what it even felt like to be happy. Every smile she made was laden with the ghost of the sunny four years that now seemed like a novel of a family far removed from her own. 

“Looks like rain today, I’d say, eh?” he said, looking up, just as she had, at the blackening sky. She nodded slowly, remembering a time when rain was the anomaly, not the sunshine. She sighed. All that was behind them now and had been for several years. 

“Yes, I believe so,” she said in her chipped English tone. She’d spent those four years trying to rid herself of her English armor but now, here in Bournemouth, she felt like she was drowning in it. Roger pulled at the lead and she was glad for the distraction. 

“Oh, did you hear on the wireless?” the man said, and she reluctantly pulled the dog back. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “Bombings in London, terrible thing.”   
“Yes, Larry told me. Do you think it will reach down here? The war, I mean,” she said, chewing her lip. Not for the first time, she felt utterly unsafe and out of place in England. 

Jonathon screwed up his moustache and placed a hand on his hip. 

“I don’t know to tell you the truth, I just don’t know, Louisa. I wouldn’t like to think so,” he said, offering a half smile that she was sure was meant to reassure. 

She looked away and the first clap of thunder ripped through the air. She jumped, and Roger’s tail fell flat between his legs. 

“I better...” she pointed wistfully in the direction of the house she occupied, and he nodded. 

“Of course, best get in before the heavens open.” he guffawed, and she took a step away before his voice called her back. “Oh! You all must come for dinner again soon, Lawrence promised me more tales of the great adventures on Spiros’ island.” 

She stopped, her heart pounding in her chest so hard it was painful. She felt nausea rise and a coldness creep through her veins. 

“Spiros?” she said so quietly she was sure he wouldn’t hear her. Her eyes stung with tears and she couldn’t breathe. 

“Yes, Saint Spyridon, the patron of Corfu...” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“Oh,” she said, with as big a smile as she could muster, which wasn’t very big at all. “Yes, of course.” 

She stumbled over the words and she hated the way one word left her weakened, even two years later. 

“Anyway, I best be off, Gerry finishes tutorage soon, and well … Roger needs food, and I … I’ll be sure to come soon.” 

And she was walking away, letting the dog lead her part of the way until her blurry vision cleared. She pushed through the front door just as the first drops started to fall and she let the grateful dog off who ran to his favourite place in the house, Gerry’s room, where she imagined he’d lie for the rest of the day. How she wished she could join him. 

Instead she took her hat and coat off and stood in the living room, listening and watching the rain falling until she couldn’t tell whether the blurriness was her eyes, or the water on the windows. She came to with a start and stalked into the kitchen. She stood before one cupboard for a long time before she opened it and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid from behind packets of food. One glass was enough to dull the pain, momentarily but with the last drop, came her last ounce of resolve and she sank into the nearest chair, pushing the gin away from her and holding her stomach as the tears came. A trickle became a full-on rainstorm until she couldn’t control the shuddering sobs that tore through her chest and left her breathless. She wanted to heave, wanted to scream, wanted to do anything other than sit pitifully, and cry whilst the memory of a man she had loved, and still loved, ran through her mind like a broken film-reel. 

His brown eyes swam into view and he took a seat opposite her, taking one of her shaking hands into his. He held it to his mouth and kissed it to soothe her. But the tears still came, and she was sure she’d cry until the end of time. He smiled at her and said her name, bracketed beautifully in his Greek accent and she felt sick. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe in, out. Just like she’d been told. 

He got up, moved around the side of the table without letting go of her hand and he was bending to hold her against him, touching her hair. 

“Don’t cry, my love,” he said with a whisper and kissed her head. The crying didn’t stop. She wanted to scream. 

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She wasn’t yet so deranged that she believed he’d really been there, but it had felt the closest to Corfu that she’d gotten since they’d left. 

The clock chimed two. She took a shuddering breath and waited for the sadness to ebb away just enough to be able to function. And it did, just like it did each time she thought of him, of the home she’d made on that island but each time the sadness hit, it took longer to quell. Today, however, she had survived another day and she stood up shakily, brushing down her front. Soon her family would be reunited once more from their various places and no one would be any the wiser that she had spent her day crying for Spiros Halikipoulus.


End file.
